


Smoke and Mirrors

by engmaresh



Series: Baavira Week/end [3]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Action, Baavira Weekend, Competency, Dark Humor, F/M, Loyalty, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Violence, War, start of darkness for my two fave dick-tators?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-05 23:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18376304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engmaresh/pseuds/engmaresh
Summary: Ba Sing Se is in ruins. In a final strike against Red Lotus-inspired anarchists, Baatar finds himself in charge and on the battlefield. Things get complicated when Kuvira's unit walks into a trap...





	1. Euphoria

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Baavira Weekend Day 2, prompt _euphoria_.  
> Also for my Bad Things Happen Bingo card, for the square [crisis catch-and-carry].
> 
>  **Warning for Ch1:** If you worry that the nonconsensual drug use might be triggering, please click through to the end notes where I've offered a more detailed explanation of it. Stay safe!  
> Violence is PG-13.

Somewhere in Sector Seven, another explosion went off. Through the magnifying lens of the binoculars, Baatar watched as the blast spit fire, smoke and debris into the air. A building swayed, then collapsed into rubble. Chewing his lip, he pulled the eyepiece away and shook his head at the rest of the squad crammed into the truck with him. Not their unit to support, so they were staying put. If the generals had any sense, they’d pull out the troops from seven immediately and consider that sector a loss. No point fighting and losing lives over what now pretty much amounted to a scrap heap. But he wasn’t the one giving orders, not yet anyway, so he held his tongue and listened with bated breath to the radio.

_kssssh–Unit Six–we are taking–ksssh–calling backup–_

Hong Li turned anxiously to him. “Should we go to them?”

“No!” he snapped. “Not our sector. Now be quiet, I’m trying to listen.”

The young metalbender fell silent, but soon the whole truck started swaying from the motion of his restlessly bouncing leg. “Cut that out,” someone muttered.

Another voice, lower, but not so low that Baatar couldn’t catch it even over the sound of chaos: “Zaofu babies.”

“Stop that,” he hissed, putting his free hand on Hong Li’s knee, digging his nails in through the rough cloth. Hong Li winced and the bouncing stopped.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m just nervous.”

“Then you shouldn’t have volunteered,” Baatar whispered back. He ignored his own frantically thumping heart, the way his palms were damp with sweat. Only a death grip kept the binoculars from slipping out of his hands, and every time the radio crackled and a shout rang out, his grip on his nerves felt just as tenuous.

He knew that he was leading this team only because Kuvira had vouched for him, because they were almost all nonbenders and support staff, and because this raid had called for participation from _everyone_. Even the greenest of cadets had been roped into this mission, and he’d suddenly found himself in charge of six of them.

He couldn’t let them down. If any one of them died…

The radio crackled. _This is Unit Four we–zzt–target_

Under his teeth, Baatar’s lip stung. He tasted iron, but kept worrying away at the broken skin. That was Kuvira’s unit. The generals had tasked her with leading a strike force to take down a suspected anarchist hideout—if they were approaching their target, it meant they had made it through the barricades…

If they succeeded today, if they drove out the rest of the Red Lotus anarchists and destroyed all their bases, they would successfully control all of what had once been the middle ring. The numbers of the anarchists were dwindling anyway, the youths who had initially been caught up in the fervour of Zaheer’s words deciding that lawlessness wasn’t preferrable when it meant starvation and death. Only the most zealous extremists were left, those who had nothing left to lose. Unfortunately this made them only more determined to take as many soldiers as they could with them when they died.

He raised the binoculars to his eyes again, scanning the smoky skyline. There should be a signal, a flare, to indicate Kuvira’s team had seized it.

_Fall back! Fall back! It’s–kssh–ap_

He was on his feet before he knew it, binoculars falling from his fingers. The strap around his neck caught them and they thumped painfully against his chest, though he hardly noticed it under the sick lurch of his stomach. The radio crackled and hissed. That had been Kuvira’s voice, he would swear so upon his life. Hadn’t it? Hadn—

 _Unit Four requesting—_ static again, then _—traction. We need–argh!_

“That’s our unit!” he barked, barely managing to force the words between his teeth without a stutter. “Move out!”

The men and women around him leapt to their feet, grabbing their weapons and putting on their helmets. Quickly and efficiently, they started filling out of the truck. Baatar moved to follow but was stopped by a iron grip on his arm. Hong Li, frozen in his seat, looked at him with wide, panicked eyes. “But you heard Kuvira! It’s a trap!”

Baatar wrenched his hand away. “Don’t be an idiot! We can’t let our people die!”

But then he took in the younger man’s wide, glazed eyes, and shaking hands. Out there, like this, Hong Li would only get himself killed.

“Fine,” he said, and gave Hong Li what he hoped was a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Stay here and guard the truck with Jiayou. Keep an eye and ear out for any trouble.”

“Yes Baatar, I mean—”

“It’s fine, Li. Get back in the truck.” He turned to the rest of the squad. “This is extraction only. Try to avoid any fighting. Find our people and bring them back here. If the Red Lotus give you any trouble, you know what to do.”

They nodded. Though none of them had passed basic training yet, they’d all managed to survive Ba Sing Se for the past three months. Besides, Baatar had made sure every single one of them was armed with a Sato shock glove, a riot shield, and one of Varrick’s modified helmets. Any bender thinking that a bunch of nonbenders were easy pickings was going to be in for a surprise.

He gave the signal and they set off, moving quickly and quietly down the road. The target was in the nearby square, which the anarchists had managed to barricade and mine well enough that the military hadn’t yet managed to seize it. Baatar hoped that Kuvira and her team had made it through. Her strategy had involved coming at them from above to avoid and harmlessly detonate the mines, and he would really hate to find out the hard way that they’d missed one.

But Kuvira and her people had been as thorough as ever. They passed through the former minefield—now pockmarked with craters and potholes—and came up against a stone wall three stories tall. Someone had ripped a hole right through it. Someone else—or maybe the same person—had thrown an automobile into it. It jutted out from the wall, still on fire. Even through the filters in the mask Baatar could smell the acrid scent of burnt rubber.

They moved carefully to the opening, keeping an eye out potential attack from the front and above. No one came. No Red Lotus anarchists, no Earth Kingdom troops. The square seemed completely deserted. Suspicious, considering their intel had pinpointed it as a hive of Red Lotus activity. Especially the building on the other end of the square, which bore a blackened sign that told him it had once been a tea house.

“Isn’t that their base?” someone muttered next to him, gesturing at the crumbling facade of the tea house. “Where is everyone?”

“Quiet!” he hissed. “You and you,” he pointed at the two nearest people—it was hard to tell who they were with the masked helmets on, “come with me. The rest of you, stay on guard.”

Baatar led them through the square, keeping the riot shield up and at the ready. They were in a prime position to be attacked, and it was a great risk he was taking to lead them straight across instead of sticking to the cover of the walls, but right now every second counted. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, in sync to the rush of blood in his ears. It was like there was an entire river flowing through his head—

“Sir!”

“What?”

“The doors!”

Baatar blinked sweat out of his eyes and looked. The doors—the doors of the former tea house had been barricaded with earthen walls, as had the windows.

“Do you think they’re trapped inside?” He recognised the heavy Ba Sing Se dialect as belonging to Cadet Oyuun. Her helmeted head was tilted curiously as she ran her gloved hand over the wall.

“Be careful!” he warned.

“They should be able to bend their way out!” That was Cadet Adnan.

“Unless they can’t.”

Baatar made a decision. “Blast it down,” he ordered. Adnan reached for the can of blasting jelly at his belt, quickly smearing it across the outlines of the wall. They lit the fuse, then took cover. The moment the door blew, a thick wave of smoke wafted out, heavy enough that Baatar could smell it even through the helmet. It didn’t have smoke’s usual ashy smell, but it didn’t carry a chemical scent either. Instead it smelled faintly floral, almost like flowers, flowers that were beginning to rot…

“Chee bai!” He spun around. Cadet Oyuun was staring into at the smoky building, eyes noticeably wide even behind the helmet’s green lenses.

“What is it?” he snapped.

“That smell!” She waved her hand in front of her face like she could waft it away, like they weren’t already completely enveloped by it. “It’s wuxiang!”

Baatar’s eyes widened. He knew the drug by name and reputation only; it was banned in Zaofu for its addictiveness, though he knew it was used in other forms as medication. If the Red Lotus had managed to booby trap the building with it…

“Adnan!”

“Yessir!”

“Go back and get the rest. Send someone to Jiayou and tell him to radio in potential wuxiang poisoning. The medics should be prepared. Then bring the truck in as close as you can.”

“Is it safe?”

Baatar peered into the gloomy building, noting the bright splashes of red on the wall. “We need to risk it. Some of our best people are in here.”

A curt nod, then Adnan was on his way, dashing across the square at a speed that would have put an ostrich horse to shame. Baatar turned to Oyuun. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she said, voice cracking slightly.

The antechamber was empty, save for the body that lay half over the threshold. Baatar nudged the limp man with his boot, then, since he wore the red armband of a Red Lotus extremist, risked a kick to the chest. He didn’t stir. They stepped over him and moved on.

The center hall was filled with thick dense smoke. Baatar hoped the filters in his mask held up, at least long enough for them to get their people out. All the smoke emanated from one source: the fireplace, where several clay pots had been thrown in. “See if you can put that out,” he ordered Oyuun.

There were more bodies scattered around, all that he could see so far clad in civilian clothes with makeshift armour. They all had red armbands tied around their biceps. It was hard to tell if they were dead or drugged, so he kicked each one of them to be safe. Only one stirred, and Baatar quickly knocked him out again with the heel of his boot. He kept an eye out for the green of an Earth Kingdom uniform, until he finally caught sight of an arm hanging limply over a low table.

“Hey!” He smacked the young man across the face, then ripped open the top of his uniform to perform a quick sternum rub. The soldier moaned, flailing feebly.

“We’ve got one!” he called.

“Great!” said Oyuun. She was throwing something into the fire; it made a sizzling noise as it struck the flame and a sharp _crack_ rang out as one of the pots split clean in half. “I think the rest of the squad is here.”

It was them, and thankfully not an ambush, and Baatar quickly handed off the dazed young man to one of his teammates. With the fire now out, the smoke was beginning to dissipate, and it was getting easier to see.

They found four more Earth Kingdom soldiers in the hall. They all had ripped up their uniforms to form makeshift masks, but it hadn’t been enough. All of them were still alive, but in a giggly stupor when their comrades pulled them over their shoulders and carried them from the room.

Baatar prowled the room, stomach roiling, feeling slightly dizzy. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves or the wuxiang, but he need to find Kuvira and fast. The was a staircase behind a door, and he ascended those quickly as he could, almost losing his balance in the landing. Kuvira, he thought firmly. Kuvira. He had to find her, she would be so angry if she died like this.

Upon reaching the second floor, he lurched against the wall, pulling up his helmet just fast enough to avoid vomiting into it. There wasn’t much to heave up, mostly water, but getting it out made him feel somewhat better. Wiping his sleeve over his mouth, he put his mask back on and continued onwards.

All the rooms had their windows barricaded. He contemplated opening some of them up, to get some air in, but realised that if anyone was watching, it would be a sign to start attacking the building. They couldn’t risk an ambush. So he kept walking and looking, breathing as shallowly as he could through the mask. Fortunately the smoke was less thick up here, the air a little lighter.

There were just two more rooms left when the dirt floor rose under his feet and knocked him into the wall. He quickly regained his balance, leaping over the next wave of dirt, and managing to determine its point of radiation. This was Kuvira, he was sure. Tripping people up, that was her thing. He kicked the door down, making sure to keep the riot shield safely in front of him. Good thing too, because three strips of metal immediately embedded themselves into its surface with enough force to send him staggering against the doorjamb.

“Kuvira!” he barked, hoping that his guess was right and he wasn’t about to get his head taken off by a Red Lotus member. “It’s me! Baatar!”

“Baatar?” Her voice was soft, the tone of it confused. He carefully lowered his shield, only to hear her gasp. Another blade of metal zipped past him, barely missing his head.

“It’s me!” he cried out, dropping the shield and pulling the helmet from his head, almost yanking his glasses off with them. “Me, see?”

“Oh, Baatar.” She was sitting propped up against the wall. Like the others, she had a makeshift mask over her face, though hers was stained red. He followed the splash of colour to her hands, and from there to the body of another Earth Kingdom soldier. This one was very clearly dead, judging from the way his intestines were no longer inside his body.

“What—” he began, then shook his head. “We need to get out of here.”

“But Huan—”

The familiar name conjured up his brother, and he shook his head again, quickly banishing the horrifying image from his mind. There were a lot of Huans, it was hardly an uncommon name. “C’mon Kuvira. The rest of your squadron needs you.”

That seemed to help. Her gaze sharpened a little, and she pulled herself unsteadily to her feet. He held out his hand to help, but she tottered past it, straight into his side. “I tried to save him,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “I tried to save him but—” Her shoulders started shaking. First he thought she was crying, but then to his horror, realised it was actually laughter.

“I couldn’t—” she choked past gasps of drugged mirth, “I couldn’t save him.”

Baatar scooped up his helmet. “Here,” he said, pulling it over her face. “Put this on.” It probably wasn’t going to do much at this point, but at least it would stop her from inhaling more smoke. He was beginning to feel lightheaded himself, but forced himself to keep moving.

“Come on.” He put his arm around her waist and dragged her bodily from the room. “We have to go.”

Kuvira continued chuckling softly as he hauled her down the corridor, the helmet lending her voice a creepily tinny quality. They were halfway down the stairs when what felt like an explosion rocked the building. It sent them both tumbling down the stairs, finally fetching up against the bottom. Dazed, but still awake, Baatar found himself staring up at an ominously creaking beam. Next to him, Kuvira lay still, seemingly knocked out cold.

“Baatar!” someone bellowed from another room, and he pushed himself to his feet. “Baatar!”

“Over here!” He stooped and lifted Kuvira into a fireman’s carry across his shoulder. Unbalanced by the weight and still unsteady from the blast, he staggered into the wall, pinning Kuvira between his back and his support to avoid dropping her.

Hong Li burst into the room. “Baatar, we have to go! Kuvira’s—”

He spotted the limp figure across Baatar’s back and visibly slumped in relief. “You found her! We need to go now! The Red Lotus are attacking the building!”

Baatar swore under his breath as he ran after the younger soldier. Kuvira wasn’t exactly light, especially in her armour, which cut unpleasantly into his shoulder. They dashed through the tea room, past the bodies. Ideally, under normal circumstances, they’d bring out the dead for a proper funeral, Red Lotus scum or not. No such option this time. They’d have to rot here, unmourned.

They stumbled out into the open, where the truck had been driven right up to the entrance. Hands grabbed Kuvira from his shoulders and hauled him into the back. Something slammed into the side of the truck, sending it rocking.

“Floor it, Jiayou!” someone yelled.

The truck sped off. Looking out the back, Baatar saw their attackers, a firebender and an earthbender. Both looked half dead already, swaying as they stood, their movements sloppy and their attacks falling short. A last ditch attempt, a suicide run. Even as he watched, a piece of metal shot past his head and embedded itself in the earthbender’s neck. He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. The firebender took one look at his fallen comrade then turned tail and ran into doomed tea house. “No!” Baatar found himself yelling, reaching out as though he could pull the man back. Too late. There was a rumbling that he could feel even through the wheels of their departing truck, then the entire row of buildings collapsed. If the man was still inside, he was dead.

Mouth dry, Baatar turned to his teammates. Everyone from his squad was there, including Hong Li, who was peering at him with concern from the passenger seat. With the exception of a sharp-eyed metalbender who was pressing a rag to her bleeding side and who likely been the one to just kill the Red Lotus earthbender, what was left of Kuvira’s squadron had been piled into to the back of the truck, where they all lay slumped against each other. Most seemed out of it, though the ones who appeared to be regaining consciousness were laughing softly and murmuring to themselves.

Baatar ran a hand down his face, then found that he couldn’t bite back his own rough bark of laughter. It tumbled out of his mouth, scraping his throat as it came, and he buried his face in his hands to muffle it.

Then someone in the back started laughing too. Oyuun. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, her hand also clapped over her mouth. “The wuxiang…”

Like a damn had burst, giggles started escaping, travelling down the row of soldiers like a game of whispers. Baatar chewed his lip, breaking skin again, but it was hard to keep the laughter down. A heady sense of euphoria overcame him, making him feel somewhat detached from his body. Everything became a little fuzzy around the edges, but he was still wearing his glasses when he felt for them.The truck went over a bump, sending Adnan reeling into his lap, laughing like he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

“Drive a little faster!” Hong Li was shouting over the howls and giggles. Then Baatar passed out.


	2. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Baavira Weekend Day 3: _secret_  
>  Things change overnight. Kuvira and Baatar are forced to make some tough and dangerous choices.

Baatar woke, feeling like someone had filled his mouth with hot sand from the Si Wong desert then scraped it all out. Gritty, dry enough that it hurt to swallow. He lurched upright, and a wave of nausea swept through him, leaving him heaving dryly over the side of the cot. Nothing came up, and every hacking gasp of air further aggravated his throat.

By the time the curtain was swept open he was sure he was about to choke to death. But a strong hand gripped the back of his head and the hard rim of a canteen was held to his lips. He coughed the first mouthful of water all over him himself, but the second went down smooth, soothing. He drew in deep breaths of air in between sips until it no longer felt like his lungs were on fire.

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” he croaked, and turned to see a blurry if familiar face. “Sal.”

“Heya, Baa.”

He’d gone to school with Salim, back when they’d been boys in Zaofu. They’d remained friends even after university took them down two different paths: one medicine, the other engineering. And now Salim was here in Ba Sing Se. He’d needed little to no persuasion—ever the idealist, Sal—but every time he saw him Baatar still felt a twinge of guilt for the promising career that his best friend had left behind in Zaofu.

“Heard it was rough out there,” Salim said as he tossed Baatar a clean undershirt. Someone had stripped him off his uniform jacket, but his smoke stained, now damp undershirt had been left on.

“Yeah,” Baatar murmured. He was about to pull on his fresh clothing when Salim stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait,” he said. He held out something, and it took Baatar several seconds before he realised they were his glasses.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” said Salim easily. He sat down on the chair that had been placed next to the cot. “I also need to check your breathing, so don’t put that on yet.”

He fished out his stethoscope from the pocket of his medical robe, and with no warning pressed the disc to Baatar’s chest. Baatar hissed at the touched of cold metal.

“Watch your bedside manner,” he grumbled.

“Baby,” said Salim with gentle smack to his shoulder. “Now inhale for me, nice and deep.”

Baatar did as he was told, and the results seemed to please Salim well enough, because he nodded once he was done and folded up the stethoscope. He then plucked Baatar’s glasses from his face and proceeded to shine a penlight in them, checking for pupillary reaction.

“Hmmm.”

“So what’s the verdict, Sal?” asked Baatar, finally freed to dress himself.

“Your lungs are fine, pupils a bit sluggish but that’s probably your shitty eyesight and the concussion.”

“Concussion?”

“Hong Li said you were in the building when an earthbender tried to collapse it, and you’ve got a nice egg on your head, Baa.”

Carefully feeling along his scalp, Baatar did discover a good sized lump on the back of his head. With the discovery came his body’s belated awareness that it hurt quite a bit. “Anything else?” he asked. “The wuxiang?”

Salim shook his head. “I don’t foresee any side effects from that. You might have a headache for a while, but that’s the dehydration. Drink a lot of water.”

Nodding, Baatar made to rise, but Salim pushed him back down on the cot. He suddenly looked tense, eyes darting around their curtained off section like he was worried about being spied on. Baata felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Salim was scared, and nothing ever fazed Salim. Not the messiest compound fracture, not the most onerous patient. Just last week he’d run into a firefight to administer first aid, and survived both that and the blistering lecture Kuvira had given him after. A scared Sal was very bad news.

“What is it?” Baatar whispered, feeling as though a hundred eyes were on him.

“Take this,” said Salim out loud, and pulled out another, smaller canteen from his pocket. “For the headache.”

Baatar really hoped there was some headache medication in there too, because if Salim was scared to even speak out loud...his skull throbbed.

“Thank you, Sal,” he said, taking the canteen. In its sleeve, he could feel the crinkle of folded paper.

“Well then,” said Sal, rising to his feet and drawing back the curtain. “Gotta go. Rounds to make, patients to torture. Congrats on keeping everyone in your squad alive, Baabaa.”

“Get lost.”

“By the way,” asked Salim mid turn, “how was the high?”

“Absolutely fantastic,” said Baatar dryly. “You really should’ve been there. A good time was had by all.”

“I bet. By the way, the captain is over at the end of the ward. Name’s not on the bed.” His grey eyes narrowed in concern. “Be careful, yeah.”

Baatar nodded. “You too, Sal.”

He pulled the curtain close once more upon his friend’s departure and uncapped the canteen. It did indeed hold a familiar headache remedy which he drank down with a grimace, then fumbled out the piece of paper from the sleeve.

The contents made his head hurt even more. This was bad, very bad. He had to see Kuvira. He hoped she would wake soon.

 

* * *

 

Kuvira woke very much the same way Baatar had, coughing and retching, though hers was preceded with some wild flailing, her body instinctively moving to protect herself from attackers that her confused mind was still perceiving. Baatar, already prepared for it, remained safely out of reach until she came to a little more and calmed down. When she started coughing, he helped her sit up and held the canteen to her lips.

But Kuvira recovered faster than he. Soon she’d snatched the canteen from his hand, drinking thirstily as water spilled down her chin and over her thin undershirt. Once it was empty, she dropped it over the side of her cot, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth.

“More.”

“Here.” He held up a cup of the same headache remedy Salim had given him. Kuvira wrinkled her nose at the smell.

“What’s this for?”

“Your headache.”

“My…” Her eyes widened, her free hand moving to her temple as pain began to register. Apparently a belated reaction to pain was one of the side effects to wuxiang, who knew. “Ugh, my head. What happened?”

“Too much of a good thing.” Baatar took her empty cup, exchanging it for a second canteen of water to wash away the bitter taste of the medication. “How are you feeling? Besides the headache.”

“Like I’ve been dried out in the Si Wong desert. Report.”

Report? Baatar thought, raising an eyebrow. But he put the cup down and began.

“You and team walked into an ambush. From what I heard from some of your teammates, the anarchists weren’t all that prepared for you. You managed to take out most of them, but they set a trap with the wuxiang.”

“Oh spirits,” Kuvira groaned. She passed him back the empty canteen and hid her face in her knees. Her voice was muffled.

Baatar took a deep breath. “Subutai, Choedon and Huan Zhong are dead. I’m sorry.” Of the three of them, he only knew Choedon, who had come with them from Zaofu. Kuvira knew him better, he was one of the guards she’d worked with back...then.

Kuvira groaned again, running her hands through her hair and tugging hard enough that Baatar considered pulling her hands away. “Any injured?”

“Geng. She’s fine though. Sal already discharged her.” He remembered the steely-eyed metalbender and shuddered. She was probably a nice enough person, but he couldn’t think of her without the memory of her blade in the earthbender’s throat slicing its way across his thoughts.

“Anything else?” asked Kuvira, her voice curt. Almost like she was debriefing a subordinate. Baatar let it slide. Now wasn’t the time.

“General Xu,” he said slowly, “is dead.”

Kuvira blinked at him. “Repeat that,” she said flatly.

“Xu is dead.”

“But we’ve gained control of the ring!” She grabbed at him, her eyes widening in slowly dawning horror. “We did, didn’t we?”

“Yes, yes,” Baatar hurried to reassure her, wincing as her nails dug into his bare arms. “The middle ring—what’s left of it—is ours.”

“Then why—”

“I think they were intending to give it up anyway. You’ve had them on the retreat for the past two weeks, this looks like a last ditch to take out the top brass while we were distracted. Anyway,” he rubbed his hand tiredly over his face, “while we were out fighting, someone drove a truck into the command center. Xu is dead. General Annyong is injured. Lost a leg, but the healers think he’ll make it. Still…”

“How do you know all this?” Kuvira asked suddenly, voice sharp.

“Salim,” Baatar explained, and handed her the tightly furled piece of paper his friend had passed him. “He was one of the medics at the scene. It’s all hush hush. No news has been released yet to the troops, not until Annyong gives the order.”

Kuvira squinted at the tiny note, taking in all the information Salim had crammed into it in his cramped, messy handwriting. “You trust this intel?” she asked, turning back to him and giving him a hard look.

“I trust Sal with my life,” Baatar told her simply. “Why should he be passing on false information?”

“I don’t know,” Kuvira said, putting her hand to her head. She looked infinitely weary, with deep shadows under her eyes and a minor tremble to her hands that hadn’t been there the day before. “We need to prepare,” she murmured, and started roughly combing her hair back with her fingers. “We need to let the troops know, restructure—”

Baatar froze. He knew the words that were about to leave his mouth had the potential to implicate him in treason. “Are you suggesting a coup?”

Kuvira inhaled slowly, hands stilling in her hair. “I...I don’t know,” she breathed. “But we can’t go on like this. After today—”

“After yesterday.”

She twitched. “After yesterday. Baatar…when we left Zaofu, I never meant, I never set out to—”

“I know. I know.” He gently lifted her hands from her hair, replacing them with his own. Kuvira’s eyes fluttered shut as he gently began carding his fingers through the lightly matted strands. “We need to start making long term plans for Ba Sing Se and the rest of the Earth Kingdom.”

“We need what remains of the cabinet to back us. We’ve taken the ring, that can be proof of our effectiveness.”

“Yes,” Baatar nodded as he starting parting her hair into three. “Do you think the Grand Secretariat will stand by us?”

“He has no spine,” Kuvira scoffed, “he’ll go with whoever wields the biggest stick.”

Baatar couldn’t help but chuckle at the mental image that presented, despite the seriousness of their conversation. “That’ll be you?”

“If need be,” Kuvira said gravely. She steepled her fingers under her chin. Baatar started working on the braid.

“What about the troops?”

“Zaofu’s people will follow me,” she said with confidence. “As for Ba Sing Se’s, they’re tired of fighting. If we can guarantee a quick, decisive victory and secure the entire city…”

“Can we?” Baatar asked.

“We will.” Her gaze hardened. “At this point we have little choice. The more time we waste on skirmishes within the capital, the more the rest of the Earth Kingdom will fall to ruin. Once we have completely captured Ba Sing Se, we will have the resources and the power to move on to the other states.” As she spoke, a kind of assured certainty crept into her voice. She still spoke in low tones to avoid being overheard, but Baatar found himself arrested by her words, the surety in them as she laid out each step of her plan.

“We’ll start now,” she declared, swinging her legs over the side of the cot and climbing to her feet. The end of her braid slipped from Baatar’s fingers. He quickly rose to follow. For a second, she seemed waver, and he moved to steady her but then she held up a hand, stopping him.

“I’m fine. I’ll need an audience with Annyong—”

“He has already requested you tomorrow.”

“Move it forward. I want to see him before end of day. Then make me list of everyone you know who will support us. Doesn’t matter where they’re from. Or if we can trust them. For now, we just need their backing…”

“You are wading into deep waters here, Kuvira,” Baatar said softly.

“I know,” said Kuvira, and scrubbed a hand over her haggard face. “But luckily I can swim. And I have you.” She turned her sharp green gaze on him, piercing him through and through. “Don’t I?”

His heart beat in his throat, threatening to choke him. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le gasp! Baatar has friends! 
> 
> So this ended being slightly darker than originally anticipated, at least re: Kuvira and Baatar's decisions. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Before his untimely (or timely, depends on who you ask) demise, General Xu made his first appearance in [When in Ba Sing Se...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18328754).

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warning for Ch1:** The drug use is accidental and inhalation based. It's inspired by the buddy cop trope where one partner is in a drug bust and accidentally gets high (though the intent here is not humour). There's a brief description of effects, but nothing too detailed, and the narrating character is sober until the very end of the chapter. The drug is opium.
> 
> +
> 
> I keep bullying Hong Li. Sorry kiddo.


End file.
